March of Mephisto: Melee of Wills
by Author of Scifi
Summary: Love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love. Time is the enemy of fate, fate is the instrument of time, and will is the nemesis of both.
1. Part 1 : 1

_Inspired by the songs March of Mephisto by and Karma by Kamelot._

_Well... I suppose it's not a 'songfic', but it is inspired by two Kamelot songs. When I heard March of Mephisto I just thought 'Beyond Birthday' for some reason... the lyrics just seemed to _fit _B and L in this archaic way, but I couldn't figure out how to make it work... then I listened to Karma and a light went off... I'll just take 'em and stick 'em in a medival setting! I'm surprised how well it actually did turn out. At first, it was going to be a _long _oneshot, but I found that reading it was kind of choppy and didn't flow. So it's broken up into smaller parts, but you could consider this a twoshot (since there is two definite parts). I thought it turned out pretty well for such an unusual idea, but I'd like feedback. I had a similar idea to this with Ghost Opera by Kamelot... if you guys like this one, I might try and write that one. Glad you read, hope you enjoy, pray you review. _

**March of Mephisto**

**Mêlée of ****Wills**

_Love__ is whatever you can still betray. __Betrayal__ can only happen if you __love__._ ~ John LeCarre

Beyond stood solemnly at the top of the hill, the wind gently caressing his short, black hair, causing it to flow back, save for a few strands which hung defiantly between his deep black eyes. He wasn't adorned in his battle armor quite yet... he enjoyed the freedom of merely being dressed in a lavishly colored tunic and silken breeches. He had left the blood red cape down in the camp, knowing it would merely hinder his solitary climb up the hill, whose base his army occupied. A pink, wet muscle slipped from his mouth and swept across his lips... they were dry, not from any kind of fear, but from the wind which was blowing in his face. He chuckled slightly, a deep, menacing sound. _Today is the day of destiny, Father. How you underestimated me... _his wiry, pale hands were clasped behind his back, and a smirk graced his pale face. _Time is the enemy of fate, fate is the instrument of time, and will is the nemesis of both. _Without pondering to consider the exact meaning of what he had just thought, he stepped forward, preparing to descend back down the hill to don his armor.

* * *

"Sir, you're worried. Please, calm yourself! This battle is no different from any other!" Watari, the King's dearest advisor and friend, was busily trying to calm him down, offering him different delicacies prepared especially for him, the king. _How can you even offer me such things to coat my mouth in the taste of sweetness, when it will all too soon be overpowered by the bitter, wretched taste of blood? _

"No, Watari, you are wrong, this battle _is _different from others... this battle is against my own son. Don't you understand? We've been at war indefinitely, yes, but before, it was more to taunt me than to actually kill me. Once those taunts failed, he decided to attack directly... he means to kill me."

"Like many others who you have defeated, milord."

"Yes, but this is different... I'm not sure if I'll actually be able to kill him, even if it is to save my life..."


	2. Part 1 : 2

_Part 1 : 2_

* * *

"Your Highness!" Beyond turned toward the voice, one hand still tugging at the greave of his left calf, which he had just put on. He stood and haughtily brushed a strand of hair back from his face. "What is it, Iblis?" His name, that of the Islam devil, suited him. Harsh black eyes, rather cliché goatee, hawk like nose, uncombed, wild black hair, and burnished armor more of a bronzy hue than a silver hue, he was the head captain of military matters, second only to the King himself.

Iblis briefly dropped to one knee then stood again. "Beyond," he said, dropping the formal titles which he knew that Beyond loathed to some extent, "they're moving."

This news surprised Beyond. _Father is actually making the first move? Henh henh henh... that desperate? _"What kind of movement, Iblis?" B grabbed his armored gloves and slipped them on with ease. His having worn them so many times had shaped them to perfectly fit his hand and bend easily with his joints. Steel, ribbed back covered with a soft gold which could absorb glancing blows easily by itself, it had no other adornments. Beyond simply hated the gaudy things that he was forced to don as a king... he figured the elegancy nature outweighed any sort of thing man could sculpt using nature.

_Corrupt, evil, malevolent... when our hands defile that which is perfect, we merely smear its true glory. Humankind is doomed... _that was Beyond's everlasting philosophy, he figured humankind was headed straight for hell. In truth, he could care less about his kingship... in fact, once his goal was accomplished, he planned to hand the throne over to Light, who was only loyal to him since he knew Beyond planned on handing the throne over to him anyway, and also because he knew that if he ever betrayed Beyond, Beyond would personally find him and torture him using the most painful and heinous techniques. This mix of respect, fear and anticipation kept the eager Light Yagami in check.

"Not exactly forward movement... about one hundred mounted troops on each side are heading toward the bases of the hills which are on each side of their encampment. I'm guessing either normal cavalry or archers."

"Unfortunately, that rules out the possibility of a frontal attack with which we could utilize our greater numbers, doesn't it?"

"Of course, if they plan to cut off our most forward troops with those soldiers."

_But I don't want to win the battle... I merely want to get to Father, fight him one on one, forcefully explain to him _everything... _then kill him and leave the rest for Light. The rest of the soldiers can all die and rot on the battlefield for all I care. Of course, the only two who know this are Iblis and Light... _"I would rather just avoid engagement altogether and get to the duel, Iblis. You know that."

"Of course, but I was thinking that later...?"

"That later, when they are losing, that we can offer a duel between the two commanders, thinking they wouldn't refuse since their defeat is inevitable otherwise? No."

"Might I ask why not? You don't care about the lives of the soldiers."

"Because we might lose."

"Beyond, you _can't _be serious!" If anyone besides Light or Iblis had talked to Beyond like this, he would have killed them then and there, but only to keep up the façade of a power hungry warmonger. In truth, he could care less if he was disrespected by humans, the low, humble, pitiful creatures that they were. He cared nothing for power, nothing at all... only the utter decimation of one, single person.

"I am very serious, Iblis. My father is extremely intelligent, an amazing tactician and a very skilled fighter with extraordinary people on his side. I have no problems whatsoever complimenting him where he deserves it. Why should I risk defeat and risk all that I have worked for insofar because of petty pride, when I could merely offer the duel now, and, assuming he accepts, be done with war, your country, my father's people, and man in general, for good?"

"If he is good as you say he is, what if you die?"

"What of it? After I kill him, I would have nothing to live for anyway... dying at his hand would be an honor, and killing him would fulfill my entire purpose. Either way, I am content. Life to me does not hold the same meaning it does for other mortals."

Iblis bowed his head. "This is what I love about you, Beyond," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So straightforward even though you know your reasoning means nothing to us."

Beyond barely acknowledged his last statement. "Bring Light. I have special instructions for him."

Iblis raised his head and saluted, placed two fingers across his heart and bringing them to his forehead. "As you wish, Beyond." With that he turned and strode off, pushing his way through the mass of bodies. _Memento mori... _Beyond thought as he looked at the soldiers whose blood would soon stain the grass.

* * *

"What if he doesn't do a frontal attack?"

"It doesn't matter. The point wasn't to trap him but to discourage him from utilizing his numbers. If we make it to where his numbers are almost insignificant, we might have a chance at winning this fight."

"We have a chance anyway..."

"Not really, no, not if he plays it right. All we can do is discourage him from certain moves... we can't attack until he attacks us."

"You're right, of course..." the tactician, Nate, nodded slowly as he listened to the king speak. Nate Rivers... a young orphan taken in by the king's family himself, same as Beyond Birthday –_that traitor-_ Mail Jeevas – the armorer in chief, and Mihael Keelh – the leader of all military matters. The king was a very anti-social man who, if possible, never showed his face, and couldn't stand the thought of marrying. Thus, he adopted orphans who showed extreme potential from a nearby but secluded orphanage as his successors. Something he would have been loathed for if it wasn't for the fact he was an exceptional king; just yet merciful, prideful yet not arrogant, attentive to the needs of the people. Those facts made it so that most supported his decisions, and he was trusted immensely.

That trust would probably have been shattered if they knew the full story of Beyond Birthday...a young, foreign orphan with an odd name, even odder pastimes but a brilliant mind, who betrayed him because of the king's own failings, he knew. And that fact, more than anything, hurt him. Deeply. And as the king looked at young, calm Nate, with prematurely white hair and large, innocent eyes, he couldn't help but think of his traitorous 'son'... his favorite son, he would readily admit, despite the fact he had seen the betrayal coming for a while. Similar to himself in almost every way, including looks. He loved that boy as much as he would have a blood relative... and that _is _what the king considered his successors. Blood relatives. His parents and grandparents long dead, his only brother murdered, his aunts and uncles... if he had any... not stepping forward to claim his blood because that he refused to continue his actual bloodline through marriage, but instead adopting young orphans, _foreigners_ no less... his successors were really the only family he had. Which is why it hurt so much when Beyond had betrayed him, no matter how predictable the move had been.

"Your Majesty!" The king winced when he heard Mail calling him by 'your majesty'. "Mail, how many times must I tell you? You're my son, do not call me Your Majesty, please."

"Sorry, Father," panted Mail, smiling at his father. The king, never one for pomp and circumstance, he was dressed plainly, like any commoner, and his hair was long, black and wild, complementing his onyx orbs well. Few people actually knew that he was, in fact, the king, sitting in a removed tent not surrounded by any guards or any kind of distinguishing marks. Those who didn't know he was the king thought he was just a commander, and a fresh one at that... about two hundred of the ten thousand soldiers knew his true identity. Such secrecy was rare in a king, but it suited this one. "There is a messenger coming from the opposite camp. He bears a message for you."

The king closed his eyes and bit his lip, knowing exactly what was entailed in the letter. "Very well, Mail. Thank you for delivering the message." He stood and grabbed a brown, leather cloak... it was cool out. He put it on and exited the tent, subtly slipping into the mass of soldiers preparing for the upcoming battle: sharpening swords, polishing armor, trying on new breastplates and helmets, sparring with sticks on the outskirts... he had seen it all before. Once he reached the northern edge of the mass he saw a lone man upon a black horse. Immaculate brown hair, soft sepia eyes, a shirt that was half red and half purple (on a diagonal bias), leather breeches, riding boots, and an aura of an odd mixture of pride and innocence. "I am looking for a man called Ryuzaki!" he said, using the king's fake name, the one he used when pretending to be a fresh commander. How Beyond had found out the king's alias was still a mystery.

The commander right under Mihael, Damon, stepped forward. "Ryuzaki? Why him? He's a young commander, barely worth your king's consideration! Hand it to me, third only to Mihael and the king himself, and I shall deliver directly to His Majesty!"

The horsebound man smirked, all traces of innocence gone. "_My _king _specifically _asked for this to be given to Ryuzaki. I will not be giving it to you or to the _king_," the man spat, "himself. I will only give it to Ryuzaki, and no one else. If you attempt to take it by force, I will gladly relieve you of your life... _Damon_." The name slid from his mouth like venom from a snake's fangs.

"How do you know my name?" asked Damon, slightly perturbed, but not one to stutter and show it.

"I have my ways," the man said coolly, drawing a bejeweled dagger that was by his side.

"You looking for a fight?" snarled Damon, easily drawing his two-handed sword, holding it lightly in his left hand.

"Perhaps..."

"Stop, Light!" said Ryuzaki, striding up toward the horsebound man, knowing he wouldk now that he was Ryuzaki as well as the king, and would obey him, not because of his rank but because Beyond would have told him to. Ryuzaki knew this man... he had been a rather normal citizen except for his extraordinary mind, which Beyond had noticed a few months before the coup. He had found him and confided in him his plans after manipulating him with a mixture of vague threats, and, of course, promises of glory. The promises of glory Beyond had fulfilled to the fullest so far. Ryuzaki had met Light once before and had disliked him almost immediately, but yet had felt a kind of connection with the young man.

"You finally show yourself, Ryuzaki!" laughed Light, flipping his hair haughtily. He oozed of overconfidence.

"Lowly peasant, get back!" growled Damon, shoving Ryuzaki unceremoniously out of the way, still holding his sword. "I say we cut the whelp down now!"

"That would be a foolish idea," said Ryuzaki softly.

"Really now? Who are _you _to order _me_?!"

"I am not ordering you, Damon. I am merely saying if we killed this man, we would violate a pertinent rule of conduct, and in doing so would make our dishonor known to not only the king's traitorous son, but also to the rest of the world. Would you jeopardize our country's amazing reputation because of petty pride and anger?"

"Silence, whelp! Lowly commander, you have seen fewer battles than a newborn babe! Have you ever even tasted the blood of your enemy cut down, experienced the thrill of battle and slaughter? Do you know anything of politics, anything at all?"

"Quite a lot..."

"Just get back, fool, or I'll take this up with the king and tell him of your insubordination!"

"That would be difficult..."

"You think I cannot talk to the king?! I can quite easily! Mark my words, you will..."

"DAMON!"

Damon turned and squeaked when he saw Commander Mihael striding toward him, red in the face, his long blonde hair swirling around him, his mouth twisted in a snarl. "_What_ do you _think _you're _doing_?!" he yelled, fists clenched. Damon winced and dropped to one knee. "M-master Mihael!" If there was anything Damon feared, it was Mihael Keehl.

"Are you _trying _to get in trouble with the king?! Are you _trying _to ruin our reputation as a country?! Are you _trying _to get me at your throat?! Put that sword away, you _idiot!_"

Damon was visibly trembling as he sheathed his large sword, still dropped on his knee. "Milord, please forgive me..."

"And where do you get off abusing this commander? He is young, yes, but so were _you_ once. Being new is _nothing _to be ashamed about, so don't try to give him reason to be ashamed!" Mihael's lightning blue eyes were fiery. "Apologize to Ryuzaki _now _and report to the whipping post for punishment!"

Damon apologized to Ryuzaki through ground teeth, and hissed, "I swear I'll take this up with the king, whelp, and I'll have you suffer twofold what I will suffer..." With that, he stood and marched away.

"Discord in the camp?" asked Light smoothly.

"It would seem so," said Ryuzaki, who was now walking toward Light, feeling the stares of soldiers boring into his back.

"None of my business, in any case. This if for you," said Light, then said quietly with a slightly inclined head, "Your Majesty."

Ryuzaki took it with a graceful bow. "Thank you, Light," he said. "I can guess its contents."

"You probably guess correctly," Light said, looking innocent once more.

Ryuzaki walked away, the letter dangling delicately between his thumb and index fingers, ignoring the piercing stares of his comrades.


	3. Part 1 : 3

_Part 1: 3_

* * *

Light came riding back into Beyond's camp, smiling slightly, moving easily with the movements of his favorite horse, Dream Breaker. The soldiers parted to allow him to gallop through, those that were closest dropping to one knee, Light being almost as revered as the king himself. As Light galloped, he considered Beyond for perhaps the hundredth time, still confused about his actual motives.

The most interesting thing was that Beyond's kingship was almost identical to his father's. He was harsher in dealing out punishments, but he wasn't necessarily bloodthirsty either, and he was _much _better than the king who had been the leader before him. Just like his father, he was secluded, he was just, he wasn't arrogant, and while he didn't care for the people, he didn't disregard them for the simple reason he saw no reason to. As a king, he figured he might as well fulfill the duties a king should since he had no interest in wealth. In truth, his people were amazingly loyal to him despite his short kingship (it was really a dictatorship because he had forced the original monarchy off of the throne. He didn't meet a lot of resistance though, since the current monarchy was hated and when he overthrew them he was a much better king) and they would have been furious if they knew that he just planned on handing the kingship over to Light as soon as this duel was over. He almost felt guilty, but not quite.

Light came galloping up to Beyond's tent, which was a few hundred feet away from the camp, isolated, with one guard standing in front of it, a great warrior and someone fiercely loyal to Light, Teru Mikami. Mikami almost worshipped Light, and the only reason he followed Beyond was because Light had ordered him too. When Mikami saw Light approaching, he promptly dropped on both knees and touched his forehead to the ground, as opposed to only dropping to one knee like he did for Beyond. "Rise, Mikami," sighed Light, who was slightly annoyed at Mikami's incessant worshipping of him. Mikami rose after about ten seconds. "My Lord! Welcome home, My Lord! We revel in..."

"Save it Mikami," hissed Light as he brushed past him into Beyond's tent. "Don't follow me."

Mikami pouted slightly and stuck his face into the tent. "_Out_." Mikami whimpered but removed his head from the tent.

Beyond was lounging on a rawhide, head propped up on the back of his helmet. He sat and up and crossed his legs when Light entered. "Well?"

"I merely gave the letter to Ryuzaki. I will assume he will send a messenger with his answer once he has fully considered our request."

Beyond nodded and reached behind his helmet, grabbing a leather bowl full of a sticky strawberry substance. Jam, Light guessed, Beyond's favorite food. An odd favorite food, considering it was generally a condiment, but Light didn't care so much. Beyond had forsaken a spoon for his fingers, using his index and middle fingers to scoop about a tablespoon of jam into his mouth at a time. "I wonder if he will comply. It's a slightly odd request."

"Why _did_ you alter your request?"

"A rather human mixture of spite and pride. Merely asking for a duel between my father and I would be much too easy."

Light smirked slightly and inclined his head. "Of course. Nothing is easy with you, Beyond."

"Of course not."

* * *

"Mihael!" Ryuzaki ran through the camp, yelling. "Mihael! Where are you?"

Ryuzaki couldn't find him anywhere. He had checked the barracks, the training grounds, the punishment grounds, the whipping post... he wasn't anywhere to be found. Ryuzaki tripped and ran into someone. He mumbled an apology but felt himself being roughly pulled back as he attempted to leave. "Where do _you _get off calling for the Commander, runt?" _Why now...?! _thought Ryuzaki as he recognized the rough voice of Damon. "Because I need to speak to him. It concerns the letter..."

"The one I was trying to give him in the first place?" asked Damon cruelly, tightening his grip on Ryuzaki's collar.

Ryuzaki growled and hissed, "I have no time for this!" He twisted out of Damon's grip, planted his hands on the ground and shot his foot out backwards, hitting him squarely in the jaw. Damon yelped with surprise at the strength behind his leg... it was fairly thin and almost feminine, but it was strong and packed a good punch.

Damon stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose. "The king will hear about this!" he yelled as he fell to his knees, clutching his nose which might just be broken. Ryuzaki felt a strong pang of guilt... he hadn't meant to break his nose.

He found Mihael, surprisingly, sitting by a lake, eyes closed, sword across his lap, hands resting lightly on the broad side of the blade. He wasn't one for meditation, so finding him there surprised Ryuzaki. "Mihael?"

Mihael started and turned, eyes narrowed, but when he saw it was the king his eyes softened and he smiled. "Hello Ryuzaki. What is it?"

"We have a problem."

~_~_~

Back at the tent, Ryuzaki read the whole letter to Mihael, who listened with worried eyes.

_Dear Ryuzaki,_

_I figure that you expected this letter to come. You know I have no interest in kingship or power, I have only one objective. You. So this request shouldn't surprise you by any means._

_Instead of fighting and needlessly spending lives, I suggest we set up a duel between high ranked warriors. If you win, I have instructed my men to retreat and leave a tribute of enough armor for ten thousand men, enough swords for twenty thousand, enough arrows to sustain ten thousand archers for three battles, and enough fine oak bows for those ten thousand archers. If I win, well... I'm sure you know that my purpose would be fulfilled if I win, and I will leave the rest to Light._

_Before we duel, though, I would make a request. Let me fight Mihael before engaging with you. If he wins, you receive the same benefits. If I win, I earn the privilege to fight you. I'm sure Mihael would gladly risk his life if it meant there is a greater chance you could survive._

_Send me your answer as soon as possible, please. If you wish to make any changes enclose them as well and I shall see if they are acceptable._

"Well? What's the fuss about? It sounds like a great deal to me." Mihael chuckled and cracked his knuckles. "More than happy to be the one who sheds this traitor's blood, Ryuzaki."

"Mihael..." Ryuzaki mused, leaning his head against the back of the chair, his eyebrows wrinkled. "Why? Why would he...?"

"Because he hates my guts, that's why. You know he hated all of us... Mail, Nate, and myself, and of course, you. He knows Nate or Mail won't fight him, so he decided, 'hey, I guess I'll kill Mihael and Ryuzaki!'. Little does he know, my skills have improved drastically. I am sure I can slaughter him now!"

"Mihael... Beyond would also have improved massively. You really think he would risk his life and his purpose if he didn't think he could defeat you?"

"Yeah, he's a prideful cur... probably thinks he could defeat our entire army single-handed."

"Beyond knows his limits... he's smart... I fear for you, Mihael."

"Or do you fear for Beyond?"

Ryuzaki opened his mouth slightly, prepared to protest, but stopped. "Yes."

"If _you _fight him, you aren't going to try to kill him, you're going to try to capture him. But you know I would _never _show him the same graces."

"Why wouldn't I fear for him? I don't care what he's done to me, I will always love him... love him as a son. Does a true father stop loving his son simply because he goes astray? Never. Why should I?"

"Because he's shedding innocent blood. Why should we show _him _clemency?" Mihael spat.

"Because that is who I am. Mihael, I _refuse _to let you fight him."

"Ryuzaki, you might be the king, but you allow me my own allowances, and I swear, if you won't let me I will march into their camp myself and slice his throat in his bed!"

"I don't doubt it, Mihael..." Ryuzaki sighed and held the bridge of nose between his thumb and index finger. "I knew you would say something like that. That was what I was afraid of..."

"You know that if we captured him he'd find a way to kill himself anyway," said Mihael soothingly, despite the gruesomeness of what he had just said. "If you defeat him, he won't have anything to live for."

Ryuzaki was silent, for he had already decided to grant Mihael's wish... as much as he detested the decision. But he said nothing.

"Ryuzaki! Ryuzaki, say something!"

"What's going on?" Nate entered the tent, a worried expression on his face, his hair more disheveled than normal.

Ryuzaki, relishing a chance to stall, explained to Nate the situation and ended with Mihael's adamant acceptance of the battle. "What if you die, Mihael?" asked Nate softly.

"Pssh, as _if_! Best fighter in this whole area, maybe in the whole world... Beyond won't stand a _chance_ against my fury!"

"What if, though?" Nate was still quiet.

"Well... I suppose Ryuzaki will have to kill him. After I fight him, he is sure to be exhausted... should be an easy kill for Ryuzaki." At that, Nate realized that it wasn't Mihael's confidence in his skills, it was just that he was willing to sacrifice himself to give Ryuzaki a greater chance of survival. Just like they all would. Nate walked over and placed a reassuring hand on Mihael's shoulder. "Mihael... you don't have to..."

"Shut up, Nate! I do have to!" His voice was loud and he was glaring at Nate, but Nate could see his eyes were very moist.

"You don't. Please, brother... don't risk your life when it's not necessary." Nate wrapped an arm around Mihael's shoulders.

"It _is _necessary. Anything to make sure my king... my father...stays alive." With that, he turned to Ryuzaki and bowed his head. "My life for yours, my king."

Ryuzaki put a hand on Mihael's head and kissed the top of his head. "My son... you know I consider you all my sons, along with Mail, of course. I am touched you would risk your lives so selflessly for me but please... don't do this."

Mihael stood. "Father, I _want _to do this. Don't deny me this chance."

Nate's arm was still around Mihael's shoulders, but he said nothing, merely turned to Ryuzaki. "Well... who am I to deny you, Mihael? I will accept your sacrifice with grace."

"But please..." came Nate's soft voice. "Stay alive."

At that, Mihael turned to Nate, grabbed him by the head, shoved it under his arm and ruffled up his hair, Nate _mmph-ing!_ the whole time. "Of course I'll stay alive, you idiot! You forget who you were talking to?"

And as Ryuzaki watched this display of brotherly love, he felt happier than he had in a long time.


	4. Part 2 : 1

_Part 2 : 1_

* * *

"Your Highness!"

"They're here?"

Iblis panted and dropped to one knee, bowed his head, then dropped the pleasantries. "Yes. They've come with their response. Mihael _and _Ryuzaki."

Beyond's heart was racing. _They accepted? Just like that? Surely not..._he quickly put on his blood red cape, grabbed his favorite weapon (a steel scimitar with a leather-bound hilt for better grip, sheathed at the moment), clipped it onto his belt and strode out of his tent, soldiers parting in front of him like the Red Sea before Moses' staff. He reached the large clearing between the two armies and stopped. Mihael and Ryuzaki, both mounted, Mihael on a golden mount and Ryuzaki on an obsidian mount with a white star on its head. _Flaming Fate and Ice Night... their two favorite horses. _Beyond stood before them, unmounted, his cape swirling about him, his black hair flowing behind him, his eyes boring into theirs, hand rested lightly on the leather bound handle of his scimitar. "Well, well... Mihael Keehl and Ryuzaki! Or would you prefer Lawliet, Father?"

Lawliet, or Ryuzaki, dismounted his horse. He was dressed in commoner's clothes and there were no weapons or armor to be seen on his horse or his person. Mihael, however, was in full battle armor except for the helmet, his sign, the griffin, emblazoned on his shield and his breastplate. In his hands were short, stout steel swords polished bright as a mirror. Mihael was a duel-wielder... very rare, but very deadly. Much more dangerous than someone with a two handed sword.

"Lawliet will suffice here, Beyond Birthday. I am surprised you still have the _gall _to call me your father." He didn't sound angry at all... more grieved, actually.

"What is your answer?" asked Beyond, not caring to engage in small talk.

"We accept. There are still details we would like to discuss, but for the most part..." Lawliet's eyes slid shut and he bit his lip. "We accept."

Beyond smirked slightly. "Surprised you'd let your _son_ go to his death." With that, he turned back toward the camp. "Come, Lawliet... we shall discuss the details over dinner."

A great fire lit the night, the smell of veil and venison wafted strongly through the air. The stars above glittered happily, and the wind blew the smoke toward the back of the camp, away from the people who were dining. Mihael, Lawliet, and Beyond were seated at a round, polished oak table situated away from the soldiers, who were instructed to not come near the three unless instructed to. Iblis and Light served them, and, after Beyond asked, they were allowed to stay and listen to the proceedings.

Beyond and Lawliet ate little, Iblis and Light ate normal amounts, but Mihael ate as if he was starving, devouring every bit of food offered to him, and practically attacked the chocolate bisque that Beyond had had made especially for him. It might have been light, but it was rich, full of butter, cream, and, of course, copious amounts of fine chocolate.

"The meal was to your satisfaction?" asked Beyond long after he, Lawliet, Iblis, and Light had finished eating and shortly after Mihael had slurped up the last sip of the chocolate bisque.

"Definitely," said Mihael as he sighed, content with his full belly. The stools, made of sections of tree trunk, had very soft pillows placed on top of them... Beyond's own pillows, no less.

"It was delicious," said Iblis and Light at the same time. They had already cleaned up after everyone except Mihael, who had just finished. Iblis stood and grabbed the three plates, one bowl, three forks and two spoons that had been involved with Mihael's meal and set it in a large tub of water which was situated a few feet away from the spot where they were eating. The meal itself had been relatively quiet, pleasantries exchanged but nothing more. Lawliet _almost _felt at ease, seeing as how the meal was so similar to those shared by the whole family long ago, but Beyond's piercing eyes, Light's permanent smirk and Iblis's annoyed, almost angry glares had ruined the camaraderie.

"To business now," said Beyond, who was now smiling haughtily. "What details did you want discussed, Mihael, Lawliet?"

"What time would you like the duel to be held?"

"Tomorrow morning, right after the sun rises."

"What are the restrictions on armor and weapons?"

"Seeing as how I issued the challenge, you two can choose."

_Oh Beyond... _Lawliet lamented silently. He was so open, and while he did seem arrogant, he was at the same time hospitable, almost charming... _My son, why did you betray me? My trust? The love I extended to you? _"Mihael, I am content with anything you might ask for."

Mihael, leaning casually on the dinner table, said, "No body armor. Weapon of your choice. Not mounted, only on foot. Shields are permitted."

Beyond nodded and motioned to Iblis, who had agreed to write the terms down on a piece of paper. So far he had written the time and now he wrote down the terms for the weaponry and the armor.

"What if Mihael dies?" asked Lawliet without emotion. "How long of a break should we permit you?"

Mihael almost objected, but stopped and said nothing. Beyond saw the apprehension in his eyes and smirked. "Yes, Mihael?" he said, drawing out the syllables. "What _if _you die?"

Mihael slammed his fist on the table and roared, "I'm _not _going to die, Beyond! I will shove my sword through your wretched heart before that happens!"

Beyond's expression never wavered. "We'll see, Mihael. My resting time, Lawliet?"

Lawliet bit his lip. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Too long!" yelled Mihael. "He barely deserves two!"

"So you admit you might die?" Beyond said, calmly.

"NO! I'm just saying that...!"

"All of you, be quiet!" Surprisingly, it came from Lawliet. "This is getting us nowhere. You can have a ten minute resting time Beyond... that or nothing at all."

"Ten minutes will be more than enough."

"You act as if my death is a certainty!"

At that Beyond merely crossed his legs and smiled. "It is, Mihael.... believe me."


	5. Part 2 : 2

_Ah... sorry I've almost abandoned my other two stories; I'm still doing them, of course, but start of the school year and just started karate and doing some researching on speech and debate... also have a book I have to write for this school project, hoping it will be around 80 pages, studying for a piano theory test, chess tournaments on Saturdays... things are hectic. I will probably dig down and _really _start working on the other two in February, but until then, don't expect too much _^.^

_Part 2 : 2_

"Beyond, are you sure about this...?" Light looked over at Mihael, worried... he was duel wielding, of course... the same weapons he had brought to the summit. He was wearing full leather, a griffin sewn expertly onto his leather jerkin. There was a sneer plastered on his face, and his blond hair was in a ponytail, the ponytail shoved into his shirt. Blue eyes shining.

"Quite sure, Light. Don't worry about me..." Beyond was wearing deerskin breeches and a loose shirt made of cotton. His weapon of choice was his scimitar with the leather bound hilt. Scimitars, narrower at the hilt, swept out in a shallow curve, had decisive advantages and disadvantages. One, they were heavier than normal swords but tended to be more sturdy, and against two handed swords they definitely won if they were wielded correctly. They also provided for harder strikes than swords could, and the curve was helpful when parrying, feinting and counterattacking. Harder to master and slower than normal swords, they were still extraordinary weapons.

The battle was in the clearing between the two armies... only select people were allowed to observe the battle. Lawliet, posing as Ryuzaki, had pretended that the offer had been to duel him. Damon had been rather furious when he had heard this.

_"Why does he want to fight _Ryuzaki_, my lord?!" _

_"I do not know, but I am accepting the request." Lawliet, dressed in his king's outfit, looked nothing like Ryuzaki now._

_"_Why_? Let me kill the traitor!"_

_"No, Damon..."_

So now Damon stood, seething, wondering why Ryuzaki was here but not the king. He was, however, somewhat worried about his commander, Mihael. He knew Beyond was a good fighter... a very good fighter. Mihael had earlier assured him that he would be fine, but Damon sensed an undercurrent of worry and obligation to duty beyond the outward eagerness to battle. The other spectators were Nate, Mail, Light, Iblis, and Beyond's tactician-in-chief and personal friend of Light's, Asim, a brilliant, if sometimes annoying, tactician.

"You ready, Mihael?"

"Heh, sure as hellfire." They walked to the center of the dueling ring. The rules were that they could not step outside the dueling ring at all. First person who did so would be declared the loser and the winner could choose what they would want to do with the loser. Otherwise, the winner was the one left alive.

Beyond smirked and bowed, Mihael following suit. They both stood and backstepped the edge of the ring. Once Beyond sprang forward, scimitar raised, the battle ensued.

-_-_-

"_Mihael!" _Nate yelled, tears spilling down his cheeks as Beyond sliced Mihael's arm, almost completely cutting the bicep in two, and rendering it impossible for him to use his right arm. Mail stood mute, but frozen in horror. And Lawliet simply put his head in his hands. This was thirty minutes into the battle... so far, Beyond had sustained a light cut in his leg, a broken pinky finger on his left hand, a shallow cut across his forehead and a bruise on his head from when he had stepped forward too close to Mihael and had received a whack on the head from the metal hilt of Mihael's right-hand sword.

Mihael, on the other hand, had been much worse throughout the whole battle. From the first stroke, it had become apparent that he was outmatched. Decisively outmatched. Not enough to where he would have been crushed, but enough to where Beyond could win without receiving any extremely debilitating wounds. Before the devastating blow Beyond had just dealt (after a long, drawn out series of parries and failed counterattacks), Mihael had a twisted ankle, sprained wrist, a deep cut in his side, a two inch deep stab wound in his thigh, two face wounds which were bleeding profusely, and a cracked rib. How he had managed to fight effectively for this long was a mystery... perhaps simple willpower, the refusal to ever give up. But as he dropped the sword in his right hand, grunted through gritted teeth, and stepped back away from Beyond's scimitar, only holding one short sword, he knew he was probably finished. He couldn't take much more of this. The pain was bearable... he had an amazingly high pain threshold. The problem was that even he couldn't fight the fatigue that came from lack of blood, and he was constantly wiping his eyes from the blood of his face wounds and the sweat. He coughed up some of the precious red substance, dropping to one knee, panting heavily, but every breath torturing him due to the cracked rib. He quickly sliced off a piece of leather and tied it painfully tight around the deep wound in his arm.

Meanwhile, Beyond was standing a few yards away, blood dripping from his scimitar. He ran the index finger of his left hand across the cut on his forehead and licked the substance off his finger, savoring the taste. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, staring at Mihael, expressionless. "Get up," he said robotically, neither expressing joy at seeing his opponent so defeated or an eagerness to finally end the battle.

Mihael grunted slightly, but stood, holding his sword loosely, not necessarily because of fatigue, but because there was no reason to grip it tightly. He panted and mustered up a smirk. "Nice one, Beyond..." He coughed up a bit more blood, then spit the rest out, looking at Beyond through his bangs. "What are you waiting for? Surely you're not scared?"

"Of course not." Beyond took one walking step forward, then sprang forward with the other foot, his feet not touching the ground until he was a few feet away from Mihael, using the momentum to deliver a crushing blow. Mihael managed to get his sword up just in time, but he could barely hold him off. They were in a swordlock, and without Mihael's previous advantage of having two swords, he couldn't keep it up forever. He brought his knee up and kneed Beyond in the stomach, but there wasn't enough strength behind it to knock him off balance. Beyond let up a bit, allowing Mihael to gain some ground, then disengaged the sword lock and pivoted on one foot, bringing his sword up to slice of Mihael's head, but, seeing the move, fast as it was, he ducked and rolled away. When he rolled, however, Beyond swept the sword down and sliced into his back. The cut was shallow enough to where Mihael could shrug it off. He stood, still panting. "Beyond..." he hissed, stepping back, legs shaky.

"Running away again?" Beyond stepped forward and feinted an overhead cut. Mihael raised his sword to block it, but when Beyond changed it from an overhead cut to a thrust, he couldn't respond fast enough.

"_Mihael!" _This time both Mail and Nate screamed, both horrified. Lawliet just let out a small groan. Beyond had shoved his scimitar through Mihael's abdomen. He yanked it out contemptuously and watched as Mihael, face frozen in shock, coughed up yet more blood and fell to his knees, his left hand still clutching his sword. "Agh..." he collapsed and rolled onto his back to meet Beyond's cold eyes, his vision clouded. Beyond smirked slightly then knelt by Mihael. "Sorry, brother... I always hated you, you know that, right? The purpose of this duel was nothing more complicated than revenge... don't take it personally... I loathe each of you as much as the other." With that Beyond stood, and glanced at Lawliet. "Ten minutes, right?" With that he walked over to Light and Iblis, each as expressionless as Beyond himself.


	6. Part 2 : 3

_Sorry guys, I know I said I'd update every week and it's been two weeks.... and I've had this written for about three weeks... sorry about that. Not much else to say, enjoy!_

**Chapter 5**

"...he's dead. Really dead..." Mail was on his knees, head buried in his rough, skilled hands. "...idiot. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot! Cocky fool!" Mail roared the last word and abruptly stood, turning toward his father, who was pulling on his leather armor, preparing for the upcoming battle. "This is your fault! You didn't stop him. You could have but you didn't!"

The king said nothing, merely grabbed a sheathed longsword and a dagger, and strapped them onto his belt.

"Say something!" Mail grabbed Lawliet by his leather collar and lifted him off the ground. Mail was extremely strong and Lawliet was fairly light, so the feat was nothing for Mail.

A small, fragile hand rested itself on the red-head's shoulder. He turned and saw Nate's large, innocent eyes staring back at him, his head wagging subtly side to side. Mail dropped Lawliet and fell to his knees, not out of reverence, but out of grief. "Why... why did you let...?"

"Mail." Mail looked up at Lawliet's face, who knelt by him. He reached out and placed a hand on Mail's shoulder, then drew the young man in close and embraced him. "I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he released Mail but didn't stand, just looked over Mail's shoulder over at Beyond.

"...I hate him. I _hate _him..." Mail's body was trembling with an uncontrollable rage.

"Do not hate him, my son. Hate me for making him what he is now."

"How can you even say that? How can you even ask me to hate _you_? You, who rescued me from the gutters of existence and the bane of potential; the streets."

"…he thinks I thought of him as an experiment… and in truth, I did… he and Aaron were both experiments… to see if it was possible to take children off the street and raise them as royalty."

"You don't really believe that what he's doing is your fault, do you?"

He said nothing, merely stood, gazing steadily at Beyond. "Of course I do. His ten minutes is up." He left Mail standing there, his heart broken, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Nate came and pulled him into a hug, trying to console him.

"Beyond! Your time is up." Lawliet's voice carried strong and firm across the battle circle, an attempt to make Beyond think that he was quite ready for this. He wasn't.

Why he was actually doing this was still a mystery to the king. He didn't want to kill his son, he certainly didn't want his son to kill him (although… even if his kingdom did succumb to Beyond's rule, it wouldn't be that much worse. However, Beyond planned on handing his kingship over to Light, who was a true narcissistic psychopath)… he wanted to capture Beyond alive. That, however, would be difficult, since even if he did capture Beyond alive… Mihael had been right about at least one thing, Beyond would certainly try to kill himself.

So Lawliet went into the fight with no straightforward goal; he would rely on his quick thinking and his heart.

And, of course, his fighting skills.

This wasn't how the monarch liked to do things. He liked it when events were lined up in logical order, with the ability to squirm if need be. This was totally out of his comfort zone.

Then again, anything that had had _anything _to do with his rebellious son had to do with going out of his comfort zone; he defined confusion in Lawliet's mind.

That object of confusion was now turning its head toward its father, a smirk on its face. …his face. He had been sharpening his scimitar, careful to make sure the edge wasn't too sharp, his wounds already bandaged. "It's actually been twelve minutes," was his remark as he stood and walked confidently over to his side of the battle circle, his boots making little sound on the ground.

"I was feeling merciful." The comeback was weak, but at this point Lawliet was concentrating more on how to succeed in the long run than short term banters.

"I thank you for that, then." Smirking, he drew his scimitar and bowed toward his opponent. "Good luck. Father."

Lawliet also drew his sword and bowed. "Good luck, Beyond." He refused to call the man 'son'.

Beyond took a single step forward, an initiative, daring the man across the ring to make the next move, his shoulders hunched slightly with an animalistic quality, sadistic sneer, scimitar hanging loosely in his grip, the blade barely touching the ground.

Lawliet didn't take the subtle dare. Drawing his longsword, he went into his fighting stance, longsword loosely in his grip, bouncing slightly on his toes, ready to move, but otherwise… he waited.

Beyond took a sideways step toward Lawliet, crossing his left over his right, then took one step directly forward. Beyond stared steadily into his enemy's eyes, trying to portray his thoughts through his piercing gaze.

His thoughts were indeed portrayed… the eyes set Lawliet's mind on a tangent, thinking about their past, the times they spent together, the tears shed and the feelings hurt… although such a phrase could barely describe the emotional turmoil that rested between the two.

_Alone together in the garden, Beyond and Lawliet walked, their feet making almost no sound against the soft grass, delicately skirting the rough sticks and rocks scattered across the yard…_

The tension in the air was practically tangible, smothering all within fifty yards of the dueling ring with a heavy blanket of raw yet untapped emotion. Energy was pent up in both of the contestants, one movement all it would take for both of them to erupt into a fierce engagement.

Yet all who knew them understood that the main conflict was not between flesh and blood… together they would battle their pasts, each other's minds, and in the end the one who could stand to the scrutiny and the marring of the conscience, whoever could hold himself upright after the mental and verbal struggle soon to come, who would still have the will to fight… the battle would be decided in the contestant's own minds alone.

With that fact concrete in the minds of those who it was relevant, Beyond struck.

It wasn't a strong, crushing strike, nor was it a swift thrust meant to get him off balance. It was a jeer, a taunt, a mental scuff, the verbal equivalent of _are you ready for this? Why are you hesitating? _Or perhaps less literally… _do you remember me? Remember the pain you put me through? _

Lawliet struck back in kind after parrying, a strike aimed at his head, but one he knew was easily blocked… _guard your mind as well as your body. _A feint to the side and then a thrust to the heart. Beyond sidestepped both. _Your heart will break, Beyond…_

_I won't even oblige you with a direct answer to your proddings in my conscience. My conscience is gone._

The taunting continued for a few minutes, both warming their muscles up, more to Lawliet's benefit than to Beyond's. The first actual 'strike' marked a turning point in the battle. It came, unsurprisingly, from Beyond. After a parry, he thrusted forward, then used the parry to project his sword swiftly and powerfully toward his opponent's head; this strike made Lawliet jump and block, using his automatic reflexes and not the voluntary ones he had been using until now. They stood there for a few seconds, seconds which spanned a lifetime.

_…why? Why are you talking with me now? You think one _talk _will make up for the years of emotional torture?_

_Backu-…_

_Don't _call _me that! Idiot! After all we've been through, when I give you a chance to make amends, you call me by _that _name!_

_….I do not love you. I never did. You are merely a successor…_

_Then _why _did you make me think you did?! Make me accept you as a father figure?! Make the bond then snap it so brutally. I'd rather you break my leg than have to go through that again._

_…you were overzealous…_

_Overzealous? Please! I'm not even talking about when you brushed me off when I made suggestions about the kingdom. I'm not that much of a dimwit! That was only the beginning of the horrors you put me through. Do you even know what they did to the first few orphans who were taken in by you?_

_…I did. It was only to make you stronger…_

_I still bear the scars. The burns. I have nightmares about the branding every time the sun goes down, I can still smell my burning flesh, taste the smoke, hear my screams. …and you consented to it all._

_…I did._

The lifetime ended abruptly when Lawliet shoved Beyond back, then swung at his head, on his toes, ready to move. Beyond didn't parry but leapt back and slid, kneeling slightly. Lawliet leapt forward and thrusted his sword forward. B stepped to the side, took his back foot and roundhouse kicked Lawliet in the ribs, diverting the sword's path right before it sliced through his abdomen. His leg hooked around Lawliet's trunk, his opponent's back to him, he pulled Lawliet closer, and almost wrapped his arm around the man's neck. Lawliet used his elbow to hit Beyond's nose hard and dropped to his knees, bringing Beyond with him. He rolled hard to the side, forcing Beyond to let him go, stood and looked down at Beyond, who getting up, blood running from an almost broken nose. He was grinning like an idiot. "Good… good, Lawli." He backed up, and they started circling each other. "I'm almost surprised you agreed to fight… never thought you were one for revenge."

"I'm not doing this to kill you, Beyond." The uninjured monarch matched his injured son's movements step for step.

"There is no other end to this, Father… one of us will die. And you know this. And you hate it." His words had an almost poetic quality.

Through gritted teeth, the monarch replied, "Not if I can help it… son."

"You have forfeited…" on 'forfeited', the jam-lover leapt forward and swung brutishly, yet he maintained easy control of the blade, "your right…", Lawliet parried the blow, "to call me…" then struck back with a side cut, "son!" Beyond ducked under the swing and rolled forward, wrapped his legs around his opponent's legs at the knee joints and swung his legs forward, causing Lawliet to buckle and fall backwards into the dirt, his sword and sword arm trapped beneath him, his legs entangled with his adversary's. Beyond wipped his legs around, releasing the other's knees, and rolled onto him, pinning him to the ground, one knee digging into his stomach, the other providing dug into the ground, providing him balance, one arm holding the other down, the other brandishing the scimitar a few centimeters from his father's pale neck.

Mail's anguished scream moved even Iblis.


	7. Semi Finale

_Meh, almost done, little puffballs. The next chapter will probably be fairly short._

_I had actually thought about a whole other storyline that would have been interesting (and would have ended with Beyond giving his life to save L, Lawliet, man is it annoying to remember to call him Lawliet and not L, so if I did somewhere forgive me) but would have taken at least 3 more parts, not including the sub-parts. I might make an alternate ending later. Also had a crack alternate ending in mind too, having to do with the grappling scene and possible incest (is it incest if the person is your adopted son or daughter? Apparently not if you've read Frankenstein…)…. But it's only suggestive if you *want* it to be so… __**anyway**__. *whistling* _

_Review? Since I'm pretty sure this fic was just a slight fail and want to know if I'm right._

_**Semi - Finale**_

They stared into each other's eyes.

Lawliet swallowed, the cold steel barely brushing his neck, his son straddling him, in an impossible situation. If he struggled, he'd die. If he didn't, he'd die. If he tried to negotiate, he'd plausibly die.

_I suppose plausibly dying is better than definitely dying… _the thought trailed off. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it when the steel bit deeper into his neck, a drop of blood running down his neck.

"This is where you belong, father. Lying in the dirt, whether you live or die a decision in my hands. An ironic justice, wouldn't you agree?"

The king didn't move, merely gazed into his son's eyes, noting the odd emotion in his eyes; rather, the odd void of emotion. He didn't seem angry, happy, or even content with the prospect of finally exacting his revenge. He looked like he was merely taking out the trash. _**I **__mean nothing to him… his honor is what matters, and he considers me an obstruction to that honor. I'm nothing more than a pothole to be filled in his proverbial road._

* * *

Beyond was breathing heavily, the sword shaking in his hand against his enemy's pale neck. _Weakling, imbecile, __**kill **__him… get it over with, and you can retreat to your precious solitude and leave this pompous reality, kill him, slice him, run him __**through**__, you __**idiot**__!_

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to make the simple cut across his neck.

_I… I always looked up to him, I always respected him, and… hell, I always loved him. I never blamed him for what happened to me, but when my handler died and I escaped, I wanted to blame someone. I always knew this, yet only now when the deed is at hand do I acknowledge it. Conscience is a damnation, curses! If I kill him I won't be in peace, I'll merely be in neutrality. _

_ Then what was Mello's death for?_

_ Because he was an idiotic waste of breath._

_ What will Lawliet's… what will my father's death be for?_

_ A foolish fulfilling of a hate long extinguished._

_ I can't kill him like this._

_ But I __**will **__defeat him._

_ And I will defeat him on equal ground, not slaughtering him like a chicken in the yard._

He no longer wanted to kill his father out of hate; he wanted to kill him out of respect.

As he always had.

With that, he moved his sword and ran the blade along Lawliet's cheek, causing the man to wince, then stood up off of him, walking back a few steps, giving his father room to stand.

The monarch was shocked, but he took the opportunity to get his arm and sword out from under him and stand, ignoring the cut on his face, which, like all face cuts, was bleeding profusely. _At least it doesn't obstruct my vision. _

They were circling each other again, confusion almost a taste in the heavy air. What they were wondering was obvious. Light, for one, was furious, while Iblis, while puzzled, trusted his lord's judgment.

"Why did you do that?" Lawliet asked, voicing the thought on everyone's mind.

"I did that because I don't hate you. I've been trying to put my hate on you, but I never hated you. I always knew this, I just decided not to act on that until now." Beyond's feet stirred the bloodied dust.

"Then why are we still fighting?"

"Because I want to kill you out of respect." The illicit king leapt forward and locked his swords with Lawliet's, grabbing him by his leather vest with his free hand, slowly pushing him toward the edge of the circle. Lawliet grunted and braced himself, both hands on his sword to keep Beyond's larger scimitar from suddenly disengaging and cutting his head off. "I didn't want to kill you like a dog." Beyond disengaged then and kicked at Lawliet, hoping he would swing at his foot with the sword, in which case he would twist and kick the weapon out of his hand.

He didn't.

Instead, he dropped his sword, grabbed and held Beyond's leg in an armbar, his arm hooking him above his knee so he couldn't draw him in. Lawliet's adversary was too off balance to even try and swing, so he fell on purpose, tossing his scimitar out of the way. Lawliet let go so he wouldn't go down with Beyond, but the man on the ground was quick enough to sweep his legs around and trip Lawliet. He fell on his back in the dust.

Beyond rolled forward and leapt on top of the king, the idea of choking Lawliet to death in a completely even grappling match much more appealing than running him through with a cold piece of steel. Lawliet thrust his hips up in an attempt to buck Beyond off, but to no avail; the man was too grounded. One hand wrapped itself around Lawliet's throat, the other bracing him on the ground. The man underneath him used that fact to his advantage, twisted and hooked Beyond's arm by wrapping one arm under his and grabbing his own wrist. Beyond, realizing he was in danger of having his arm broken if Lawliet sat up and twisted, rolled with Lawliet when he twisted again and wrapped his legs around Lawliet, lying on his side behind him, both of Lawliet's arms occupied with only one of Beyond's. Lawliet abruptly let go and tried to wiggle out of Beyond's legs. He felt Beyond's arms wrap tightly around his neck and he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe and unable to move. Beyond had him in the grip of a python.

Most people would have tried to pry the arms away from their neck, but Lawliet knew his son was much too strong. Instead, he grabbed the dagger at his side and drew it, since his arms were free.

_Curses, he has a dagger! _With that thought, Beyond withdrew his arms, brought one leg back and kneed his enemy hard in the back, then braced his foot against the same spot and pushed Lawliet away. He quickly stood, watching as Lawliet spit and stood, armed with a dagger, himself armed with nothing. He growled and slid away from the edge of the ring, closer to Lawliet, but not so close that he could utilize the dagger. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" And he almost meant the sentiment.

"Quite," was the man's clipped response. He brought his hand up and rubbed his bruised neck, the memory of Beyond's arms around him quite unpleasant. He was still having trouble breathing.

Beyond licked his lips, nervous. He knew how to easily disarm someone with a dagger; it was the fact that his father was inching toward the longsword and the scimitar that worried him. Disarming a longsword with your bare hands, or for that matter, a scimitar, was almost impossible.

_I will have to take the chance with the dagger. _He leapt to the side, his feet barely touching the ground, then darted forward, head turned toward his adversary, waiting for the perfect moment… _there!_

When their paths were almost on collision course, Lawliet stepped back away from the abandoned weapons, holding the dagger out in front of him in an expert grip; not tightly, not loosely. Most people and even swordsmen would be holding on to the dagger for dear life, but Lawliet knew that would do nothing but weaken his grip for when it counted.

When he stepped back, Beyond bent his knees mid-dash and jumped, spinning his leg at the hip, banking on that Lawliet wouldn't try and cut him; he'd retreat.

He did.

With an almost silent landing, he threw himself to the side and rolled just as a dagger sliced the air where his side had been. When he completed the maneuver he was almost on top of his precious scimitar. He snatched it up out of the dust and stepped back, motioning a glove-clad hand toward the longsword. "Pick it up. This ends here."

* * *

He was utterly exhausted.

Not only because of the physical strain, but because of the emotional strain.

He _couldn't _kill his son. He couldn't _not _kill his son. He was being squeezed on three sides, and there was no escape. He was dead or dying, and the only thing keeping him breathing was the involuntary systems in his body that he desperately wished he could stop.

So why didn't he just lay down and let B kill him?

Because he wanted to live.

Yet die.

Anguish was ripping him apart from the inside and he didn't know what to do.

Not only because he was going to kill or be killed by his son, his love, but because he wasn't sure which he would rather.

_How can I even consider killing him…? Why should I care that he betrayed me? In his betrayal he helped countless lives, and his treachery was only because of my own doings, because I allowed the physical and emotional torture to persist. If he dies it's no one's fault but my own. Dear God, what have I done…?_

They were fighting, their blades were clashing, entwined in a deadly dance, but the distressed monarch was conscious of none of it. His blade moved of its own accord, protecting him, not out of any conscious will he had to live but out of an involuntary, primal reaction to survive. Raw, dogged determination was all that was driving him. His conscious mind was being torn apart, and he couldn't stand to raise his blade offensively against his son.

He was going to die.

Meanwhile, Beyond was attacking him with ease, realizing that Lawliet had lost all will to fight, increasingly enraged by that fact. That had been his original intention, but now that he wanted to kill him out of respect, he wanted his father to fight with all his strength. Without thinking, Beyond snarled, "Lawliet! Get your head out of the clouds and _fight! _Self-pitying cretin, quintessence of cowardice, _don't _give up on me now!" The final outburst was one that Beyond hadn't even meant to say… he wanted him to live…?

Lawliet crouched and leapt backwards, away from Beyond, trying to clear his head. Beyond realized that he needed time, inclined his head and eyed him critically, hoping that Lawliet would fight.

Lawliet was panting, emotionally spent, but his physical strength hadn't left him yet. He knew he had to finish this. He wouldn't kill his son. He would have to wound him critically enough to where he wouldn't be able to fight, but where he would be…

"Listen to me, father. This is the last stand, the final charge. Get over any pathetic notions you are entertaining of sparing me and attack with everything you have or I will kill you. If you wish to die, do it on your own time, don't have _me _do it for you." Beyond realized he was practically begging his father to kill him. _…what are you doing?!_

Lawliet stilled, took a deep, calming breath. _He… he wants to die… he wants to die at _my _hand, or kill me at my best. …I… I want to live…. I'll try my best to wound him but… I might… just have to kill him… _"Very well, Beyond." His voice carried strong across the circle.

Beyond let out a laugh. A maniacal ecstasy laced laugh. Incarnation of sadomasochism. "Then let's finish this, _Father._"

The next few seconds passed as a blur, neither combatant knowing exactly what happened. But at the end of it, Lawliet was on his knees, a scimitar shoved through his abdomen, his longsword dropped somewhere. He gasped as Beyond withdrew the weapon, pressed his hand to his side, and collapsed.

Right after he lost consciousness, Beyond fell next to him.


	8. Finale

**Ahh, the last chapter, hope you guys enjoyed the story ^.^ Last chapter is very angst heavy… (nyeh, I almost cried. Not like sobbing in a puddle of tears crying, but *single tear* crying) I tend to do that a lot, don't I? Make the last chapter freaking heart-wrenching, haha. **

**Anyway, I had about a thousand ideas for the ending, and I decided this one flowed the most. However, I think I might like to try some of the other endings, so I might make alternate endings, I might not. But for now, I'll consider this story finished.**

**Enjoy, maybe review? Just maybe? I dare you. I bet you won't do it, will you? *winks* Prove me wrong.**

**Finale **

_ "…off. But he didn't. So I suppose we owe him that much."_

Voices cut through Lawliet's unconsciousness, his peaceful world of nothingness being harshly ripped apart by an intense pain in his side. He whimpered softly as the pain slowly dimmed, and he realized it had hurt because he had involuntarily tried to sit up.

Two blurry figures suddenly turned, and when his eyesight slowly started returning, he saw it was Nate and Mail. _Of course… _

He tried to ask how Beyond was, but his voice came out scratchy. He swallowed and tried again, but Nate held up a hand telling him to be quiet, walked over to the edge of the bed and picked up a bowl of water. "Drink," he said simply. "Mail, help him sit up."

Mail walked over and very carefully helped his father sit up, Lawliet grinding his teeth together through every second of the painful motion. When he looked down he saw his armor was stripped off; he was in silken nightclothes, his abdomen wrapped tightly in antiseptic cloth; he could smell the chemicals.

He carefully took the bowl from Nate, and drank deeply, the cool water cleansing his mouth of the bitter taste of blood, but not the agonizing taste of remorse. His throat felt absolutely raw.

He handed the bowl back to Nate and said his question again. "How is Beyond?"

Mail glanced at Nate and slowly shook his head. Nate took in a deep breath and looked at Lawliet. "He's… he's OK, Father, let's worry about you right now…"

"…he's not OK, is he…?"

"Of course he's not OK! He's dead!" The voice didn't come from Nate or Mail; it came from Damon, who was standing in the doorway. He strode into the room, shoving Nate and Mail out of the way. "You, you've been **lying **to me, haven't you? You're not just a simple commander! You're another one of the king's runts, aren't you? That's why you were never impressed when I threatened to tell the king of your insolence!"

The timing couldn't have been worse. At that, Mail snapped. He roared, grabbed Damon and shoved him onto the ground. "How **dare **you! How **dare **you barge in here as if you have a **right**_**, **_and make slanderous claims about my Father's name!" He was red in the face. "He most likely saved the lives of countless soldiers by accepting the duel, he was gravely injured and you come in here talking about how he **lied **to you?!" Mail drew his sword and thrust it at Damon's neck, stopping mere millimeters from the exposed skin. "I should kill you right now, right here!"

"Mail." Lawliet's soft voice carried more impact than Mail's screaming. "Please put the sword away."

Mail was trembling, shivering from rage, but he immediately put the sword away. "I'm sorry, my lord…."

"Please, Mail, call me Father."

Damon, on the other hand, was absolutely shocked. He, like Mail, was shaking, but not from rage. "F-father…?!"

Mail whirled around and snarled at Damon. "Yes, Father! He's the _KING, _you lowly piece of _filth!"_

"Mail. Please leave until you regain your composure." Lawliet's soft, strong voice once again carried through the tent.

Mail took a deep shuddering breath and walked heavily out of the tent, not giving any other acknowledgement of the command.

Nate, on the other hand, was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching Damon steadily and calmly.

Damon quickly stumbled up and fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the ground. "My lord, your Majesty, my king, I'm so deeply sorry! I should executed for my insolence!"

"I suppose you should," Lawliet said absently. Damon didn't move.

"However, I know for a fact that if I had indeed been who I had claimed, no one except Mihael, Nate, Mail or me would have batted an eye. And that disturbs me more deeply than anything. Rise, Damon." Damon quickly scrambled to his feet. "As far as you're concerned, I am just another commander. If you treat me with respect, you must also treat everyone else of my rank with the same respect. Do you understand?"

Damon opened his mouth to protest then shut it, wanting to get out of the king's presence as soon as possible, wondering if he would actually obey the command. He nodded anyway.

"…you're a good man, Damon. You may leave." With that, Damon, face flushed from embarrassment and shame, exited. A few seconds later Mail entered, completely calm. "I'm sorry I snapped like that, Father."

"…it's… it's all right…" Lawliet winced and groaned from pain, allowing himself to now that Damon was gone. "…Beyond is dead, isn't he…?"

Mail opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Nate. "Yes. He is. You stabbed him through the heart. He was dead within four minutes of the end of the battle. It's been about a day since the fight."

Lawliet's eyes closed and he bit his lip. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood, the bitter taste amplifying the sick feeling in his stomach. "I… I… I killed my son…"

"No, you didn't," said Mail. "He… it was…." Mail rested his hand gently on his father's wounded side. "You don't remember the last few seconds of the fight, but…he could have taken your head off. He could have stabbed you through the chest. He could have cut you in half. He didn't. Instead he stabbed you in the side, avoiding all major organs, and ran into your sword. …he could have killed you and lived, but he didn't… he _wanted _you to live… and he wanted to die. You killed no one."

The implications hit Lawliet like an arrow slamming into his chest. "….he…"

"…yes. Nate and I talked to him on the field right before he died… he said he was glad it happened this way… he assured us you would live, and he was right…"

Lawliet sat in still, silent anguish. "I never had the chance to say goodbye…."

Nate lifted his hand and carefully twirled his hair. "…they haven't buried his body yet…"

* * *

Lawliet sat in the burial tent, alone with Beyond's corpse, his side throbbing with a dull pain; the anesthetics were really helping though. The sweet smell of citrus, mingling with the cloying smell of some kind of chemical, was heavy in the air. Beyond was lying on a slate of a natural burgundy-red rock, shirtless, his legs still in his body armor. All traces of blood had been wiped from the body, his hair was smooth and obsidian, his hands palm up. He could have passed for sleeping if it wasn't for the large wound in his chest, right where his heart was. It wasn't bleeding, of course; all the blood had pooled in the bottom of the body by this time.

_I did that.. I killed him… _

L ran his hand down to the wound; the body was stiff from _rigor mortis, _odd since it had been more than twenty four hours. "You didn't hate me, did you?"

_Of course I didn't._ Lawliet gasped when heard another voice. He looked around but he couldn't see anybody. And it wasn't the corpse. _Would I have killed myself for you if I had?_

"…Beyond?" asked Lawliet, looking around the tent,.

_No. I'm quite obviously dead._

"Well then who…?"

_Figure it out, Lawliet._

"How do you expect me to figure it out?"

No answer.

Lawliet was trembling. He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed his head, shutting his eyes. "I'm hearing voices now…."

_Are the voices from your head or from your heart?_

"You tell me!" Lawliet screamed at the nameless, faceless voice.

_You tell yourself. _A dark chuckle.

"I'm going insane…"

_You've been insane for quite a while, haven't you?_

"Aren't we all?"

The voice had left again.

Lawliet turned to the corpse again, wincing as he moved. It hadn't moved… of course he… it hadn't, it was a dead body… right?

Lawliet gently ran one hand through the dead man's hair, surprised by how silky it was. He ran his hand down from there, trailing his fingertips along the cold, clammy skin; his forehead, closed eyelids, nose, lips, neck, chest, down to his stomach, leaving his hand there. Not a bit of warmth. Not a bit of life. He was very dead.

"I'm sorry, Beyond… and goodbye."

There, in that room, Lawliet shed his first real tear.

_**~Memento mori**_

_**~Fīnis**_


End file.
